


The Time of the Wolf

by peregrinations



Category: Fitz and the Fool Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: Assassin's Fate Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Gen, Other, Post-Canon, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peregrinations/pseuds/peregrinations
Summary: “And so the Wolf of the West rose from the stone! And so he will rise again if ever the folk of the Six Duchies call to him in need.”--Hap GladheartA stone wolf sits high on a rock, keeping a silent vigil over the world he has left behind and yet remains to guard. He wanders on an endless hunt, ever watchful, ceaseless in his motion.
Relationships: FitzChivalry Farseer & Nighteyes, FitzChivalry Farseer & The Fool, FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool, The Fool & Nighteyes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Time of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msermesth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/gifts).



> What is Fitz, the Fool, and Nighteyes’ experience of the world after they enter their wolf? This is my attempt to answer that question.

We run through the forest, chasing our prey. We are as swift as the wind and as quiet as death. We revel in our constant motion, our freedom, our untiring body.

The seasons change and cycle through, ever changing and yet always the same. We are like this as well: always in flux, always living in the Now, and yet constant in our changeability, finally secure in our place in the world. It is so freeing to simply exist, to be cut loose from all the threads of possibilities that once bound us. We feel the currents of Skill and fate and time eddy around us, but not through us. We are beyond our time, all three of us, now: The world changes under our watch, but no longer under our guidance. We look to the skies as jewel-bright dragons, made of flesh rather than stone, pass overhead and cast shadows on the land.

We are lucky in a way no other White Prophet and Catalyst pair has ever been before. We've sometimes wondered whether the ineffable bond we shared was one unique to us, or whether other Prophets and Catalysts before us were similarly drawn together. That we may never know, but we do know that there is no separation between us now. And Nighteyes. Never has there been such a companion, to exist through time and space and finally come to rest in our ultimate joining. The three of us form one being, a whole, joined by some strange confluence of Skill and Wit and prophecy and fate. It is as it was always meant to be.

And yet, knowing something is as it is meant to be does not mean there are no regrets. We are made of memories, memories animating stone, creating life. There is so much joy and so much pain in our memories, in _us._ So much pain, and so much of it sustained at each others’ hands. Why is it that those we love the most also cause us the most pain? Why were we so foolish; how were we so blind? The wolf in us scorns our shortsightedness; he always knew best what we were to each other, and was wise enough to accept it without question.

We live our lives many times over in our mind, becoming more and more a single, seamless being with each retelling. Time ceases to be linear; we drift among our memories of the past - and many possible pasts that did not come to be - as we tread softly through the forests of the Now.

_A dark-haired boy stood in front of a wispy-haired pale child, a wall at their backs, hands clenched as he prepared to defend the other from a chattering mass of children running their way._

_A pale figure leaned against the sturdy back of a wolf, drawing comfort from his closeness. A man joined them, sitting next to the pale one and wrapping his arms around them, pulling them to his chest and kissing their brow._

_An badly injured man lay delirious before a fire, on the knife’s edge between life and death, his rescuer gripping one of his hands like a lifeline and willing him to live._

_A blind, scarred beggar held a small child tight to their breast, cloudy eyes opening, able to see the man before them._

_“Oh, Fitz, how I’ve missed you.” When the two hugged, the child still between them, it felt to each of them as if some piece of himself that he hadn’t known was missing suddenly slid back into place. It felt like coming home._

_The man’s tears trickled into the beggar’s sparse hair. “I am here, Beloved. I am so sorry. From now on, I will always be here.”_

_The shadow of a wolf shifted in a man’s mind, prodding him to action._ Fitz, do something. You cannot rest yet.

_A man held a crown high overhead, shaking it at the sky and screaming, “I take his death for my own!”_

_A man and a woman entered a warm room where another was teaching their child how best to record her dreams._

_Two figures sat a foot apart from each other, a whole world between them._

_“If I leave you here, will I ever see you again?”_

_“Probably not. It would not be wise.”_

_“Goodbye, Beloved,” said the tawny man._

_“Goodbye, Fitzchivalry Farseer,” said his Catalyst._

_Two figures knelt, one with three silvered fingertips against the other’s wrist, gazes meeting in between. A wolf looked on, tongue lolling out of his mouth, eyes bright and approving._

_We were one thing. Whole. No limits between us, no boundaries. We lived in each others’ bodies and shared the very stuff of our beings._

Now more than ever before.

Our cub comes to visit us from time to time, and we have the bittersweet joy of seeing our child grow without our guidance and support. We miss her, but she doesn't need us. She burns with a fierceness worthy of the best of hunters, and we are proud. We truly are her Wolf-Father now, but we can only watch as she grows, changes herself, and changes the world.

Our Queen comes to us as well, as frequently as she can. Though time passes and rulers come and go, she will always be our Queen. She always senses when we shadow her through the trees, and sometimes we carry her on our back, tasting the bright Mountain air as she smiles and hugs us close. When it comes time for her to leave this world, we sense her purpose as she enters the Stone Garden, and we give her space as she goes to Verity-as-Dragon for a final goodbye, laying down at his feet as if for a short rest. She moves on with all the steadfast grace she always carried. We are there, watching, as she draws her final breaths, and we are there to comfort our cub and Spark when they find her there.

We do not know for sure why we remain animated when all others in the Stone Garden slumber on: Well do we know that it takes the Wit, the Skill, and blood to wake a dragon for the fulfillment of a certain purpose, but we gave ourselves no explicit purpose other than the animation of our wolf and the perpetuation of our shared existence. We gave our Wit and Skill to the stone, and we brought with us far too many memories of blood shed in each others’ names. To our knowledge we are the first stone “dragon” to contain a Witted man and his wolf, and we are certainly the first to unite White Prophet and Catalyst. We can have no way of knowing what this powerful confluence means in the harnessing of the strange Dragon-magic involved in our creation. Perhaps it is the strange mix of our powers that keeps us in motion, or perhaps our purpose is simply to live, to be, to exist in the world, together, as we were meant to be. The wolf in us prods us away from these useless musings. We are _here,_ in the Now, and there is prey to be hunted. That is all there is, and all there needs to be.

Though we roam far and wide on our perpetual hunt, we always circle back to the Stone Garden. We watch over the dragons as they slumber, but we do not rest. We keep our vigil, ready to arise if the world needs us again. If the Farseers need us again.

We do not rest, but we are at peace. Prophet and Catalyst and Wolf. _Pack_. Our memories brought us together, fused us into one. This is how we were always meant to end.

Or rather, to begin.


End file.
